How Mrs Pettigrew Lost Her Name
by CompYES
Summary: Celeste Pettigrew has had many worst days of her life. The day her mother left, the day she was rejected at Hogsmeade, the day her best friends and husband died within a week of each other. But what took the cake was the day every terrible thing Remus Lupin said about her was proven true. Eventual RL/OC, past PP/OC, OC adopts HP.
1. Chapter 1: Resurface

**Chapter One: Resurface**

* * *

"_I see the world has folded in your heart_  
_I feel the waves crash down inside_  
_And they pull me under_  
_I would give you anything you want_  
_You are all I wanted_  
_All my dreams have fallen down_"

-Save Me, Remy Zero

* * *

November 2, 1981

"No."

The man seated in the chair beside hers went rigid.

"No?" The last occupant of the room spoke questioningly, his wizened features pulled in confusion. "I would have expected that, as his godmother, you would want to take him in."

She tensed, eyeing both men nervously, hoping they would accept her explanation.

"I cannot take Harry in. I'm barely holding myself together. I just… I can't do it. Not after losing Lily, and James, and my husband. Maybe if he was still alive I could, but I've lost everything. Everything."

A shaky sigh rattled out of her.

As she had been speaking, the man at her side slowly begun to shake violently.

"You-" both she and the old man seated across from her turned their attention to him, "You think _you_ have lost everything?"

Something in her chest seized.

"What about me?" the man snarled, his eyes shining but fiery, "What about Harry? How dare you act so sorry for yourself when James and Lily trusted you to take care of their son if they- if they died!" His hands clenched into fists. "The only people who could take him are you and- and _him_! If I could take Harry, I would! I would take him in a second!"

"Well I'm not like you then!" she cried, shrinking away from him defensively.

"Yeah you're not," he sneered at her, standing to loom over her.

"Now, now, there is no need-" the old man tried to say.

"Yeah, you're not," the standing man repeated in a shuddering rasp, "Because I'm not a useless, unfeeling coward."

"Remus." The old man spoke the name quietly, but the tone demanded attention and silence. "That is enough."

"That's right." Tears leaked from the corners of Remus's eyes. "That's right, I've had enough of this." He began moving towards the fireplace and reached into the bag nearby to pull out some floo powder. The man paused just before he threw the powder into the flame. "If you could at least tell me who will be caring for Harry?"

"Lily's sister and her family." Though the old man didn't have to, he went on to add, "I have placed powerful wards on her home. Harry will be quite safe there."

"I suppose that is all I can ask for. Good evening headmaster."

"Good evening, Remus," the old man answered in kind, as the flame roared with departure.

The minute he was gone, the woman put her face in her hands.

"My dear girl."

"He doesn't understand!" she wailed, "It's not that I don't want to be there for Harry, I just can't help that I'm this way. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't stop crying. No child deserves to be raised by me right now, headmaster, you have to understand, I can't-"

"And I'm not asking you to," the headmaster said, giving her grief pause, "I do not pretend to know what the loss of a husband or wife is like, but I do know loss, and it is a terrible thing to bear, not only once but several times over in such a short amount of time. I would not ask to force yourself to care for Harry if you believe you cannot."

"But Harry-"

"Will be fine with Petunia," he assured her.

Raising her head from her hands, she saw him holding out a handkerchief to her. And if she wasn't imagining it, the ever present bowl of lemon drops on his desk had gotten closer to her. Choking a laugh, she took the handkerchief and blew wetly into it. With a flash of impulsiveness, she also took a lemon drop and popped it into her mouth. The nostalgia of days past visiting this office and eating lemon drops washed over her and for the first time in days, she felt a little better.

"Will I still be able to be a part of Harry's life?" she finally worked up the courage to ask, "When I- When I'm able to?"

"Yes. While I wish for Harry to have a childhood away from the magical world, I think he should have some connection to it. Petunia, as a muggle, won't be able to provide that connection like you will as his godmother and a witch."

She relaxed just a bit more, relieved that she was not completely giving up the chance to have a relationship with her godson someday.

"Thank you headmaster."

"Albus or Dumbledore if you'd like, my dear. I am no longer your headmaster. You may now call me by my name."

"Alright headm- I mean, Albus," she amended only somewhat uncomfortably. She looked around the office, finally noticing it seemed dimmer than when she had first arrived. Looking to the window past Dumbledore's head, she noted it was dark outside. "I should be going."

"Yes, you should." As she stood and began to leave, Dumbledore stood as well, coming around the desk so he stood to face her at the fireplace. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Please take care of yourself. And if you ever need any assistance, do not hesitate in asking me."

"I will," she promised, feeling her eyes watering once more, "Thank you, Albus."

"You're welcome Mrs. Pettigrew."

April 7, 1984

Since the blow up in Dumbledore's office, she hadn't spoken to Remus. Maybe in the first couple months, she had waited anxiously, desperately, for any word from the man. The desire to read words of apology and comfort had outweighed the fear of facing more condemnation from him. But as time wore on, the scale tipped. It seemed less likely that he would ever forgive her, and even less likely that she could ever forgive him.

Her grief had blunted her fury then, but the longer she had thought on it, the more she realized that his words to her that night had been uncalled for. As much as she had once cared about Remus as a dear friend, such insults were unacceptable. Though Dumbledore would try to convince her to let go of her pride, she could not. Even when Remus finally wrote and tried to fire call almost a year later, she left the letters unopened and the fire calls unanswered. And that was how their friendship had well and truly died.

It was easy then to sweep Remus Lupin and any other related issues she had with him under the rug, especially in the aftermath of the vanquishing of the Dark Lord. The world was suddenly safe again, though the same couldn't be said about her way of living. With her husband dead, she could no longer be the stay at home wife she had been while she and Peter were in hiding. After facing that reality, she had gotten down to business.

First on Celeste's list had been settling Peter's affairs. That had included organizing his funeral, arranging the care of the ailing elder Mrs. Pettigrew, attending his will reading, and publicly accepting his Order of Merlin award. She'd spent weeks after all of it motionless in bed.

Her second item on her list had been selling their house. Too many memories. And without him to support her, she would need the money to keep her afloat until she had a job of her own.

Third on her list had been moving back in with her father. He'd welcomed her back in his vacantly affectionate way: simply patting her on the head and then telling her that she could have her old room back as long she promised to relocate the piles of books he'd put in there somewhere neat.

The last thing left to do after that was get a job. Even if she was living with her father and living off of her inheritance from Peter, it wouldn't last her forever.

While her NEWTs were nothing impressive, being the poor widow of a hero balanced that out. If there was one thing she was good at, it was keeping books organized. Flourish and Blotts turned out to be looking for a clerk and it had been a great stroke of luck that she had managed to locate a copy of _The Invisible Book of Invisibility _during her interview. She'd been hired on the spot then and there.

With all matters of business taken care of, it was only then that she allowed herself to think of her godson. It became hard not to think of him when both the Whiz Hard Books and Obscurus Books publishing houses started printing accounts concerning what had happened the night he had been orphaned. Her heart hurt every time she went to shelve a book and Lily, James, and little Harry peered back at her from the picture on the cover. They'd wave, even baby Harry, if they caught her staring too long.

When she could take it no longer, she wrote to Dumbledore.

_I'm not ready to see him yet, _she remembered explaining, _but I'd like to write. So at least he'll know I'd been thinking about him._

Dumbledore had told her it was fine, and that he'd let Lily's sister know about it, so she began writing. It took months to finish writing the first letter. It was almost half a year before she finally sent it. She didn't really expect a response back, Harry was only three. And she expected Petunia Dursley to be suspicious of her. What business did some strange woman have writing her nephew? Even if Dumbledore vouched for her, if she had been in the other woman's shoes, she would be leery of someone who could take away her custody of Harry if she so choose. Surely, the woman must've become attached to Harry in the last two years.

She'd remained unbothered by her next two letters going unanswered for the next couple months, but soon, started worrying. Maybe if Petunia was suspicious of her, she would never give her letters to Harry when he was old enough to see them?

Bothered enough by the thought, she started writing two letters each every month. One to Harry, one to Petunia. She introduced herself as a friend of Lily and James's, apologized for her loss, and even promised the woman that she would never take Harry from her if she didn't want her to. Most of those letters went without replies, just like their predecessors.

That pattern continued until today when, much to her shock, a reply came back in the mail.

It read:

_April 6, 1984_

_My family wants nothing to do with your freakishness._

_Stop writing._

_Petunia Dursley_

Not much to the missive, but that was what finally set the warning bells off in her mind. What had she meant by freakishness? She'd never even met the woman once, not even at Lily's wedding. And maybe, that should've been a clue, if she had actually been thinking. Celeste remembered Lily, a strained smile on her face at her bachelorette celebration, telling her that her relationship with Petunia had been difficult. Since she knew nothing of the woman, Celeste had just assumed that maybe it had been a fight, maybe it had been their parents' deaths, the war, that made things the way they were.

But, even if Petunia and Lily had a difficult relationship, surely- surely the woman wasn't taking it out on Harry. He was just a boy. Just a little boy. Surely she couldn't.

Could she?

April 14, 1984

"Albus, please."

"_I understand your concerns Mrs. Pettigrew, but I assure you, Harry is safest where he is."_

"It's not his safety I'm concerned about," she said, "At least, I'm not worried about his safety, I believe you when you say he is being protected by your wards. But it's Mrs. Dursley I worry about."

"_Petunia and I have an agreement. She has vowed to care for him and she will honor that vow."_

A chill went up her spine at those words. Whether it was the words themselves or the tone he said them in, she didn't know.

"Be that as it may," she said pushing on, "Could you please at least check up on him? See how he is doing with her? For my peace of mind?"

She wanted to ask him to ask after what Petunia had done with her letters, but left that part off. It wasn't necessary.

"_I suppose it wouldn't hurt to do so. I am very busy lately, however. I will send a colleague in my stead to check on young Harry. I will inform you of their report as soon as I receive it."_

"Thank you Albus," Celeste breathed out, "I'm sorry for my paranoia. I just want to make sure he is okay."

"_It is understandable, my dear. And you are certainly not the most paranoid individual I am acquainted with."_

Giggling, she wished her old headmaster a good day, before pulling her head out of the fire. Though she still felt some uneasiness about the situation, she pushed it away. Albus had said he would look after Harry and she trusted him to do so. She would be receiving that report on the boy any day, and it would prove that she was worrying needlessly. Shaking her head at her foolishness, she stood up and quickly moved to the closet to put on her uniform robes.

No need to be late to work.

* * *

_April 30, 1984_

_My Dear Mrs. Pettigrew,_

_Here is the report from my colleague on Harry's wellbeing._

_Though I have not witnessed many interactions between the child and his aunt and uncle, I have been assured that they are rather respectable individuals. I have asked around the neighborhood, and all of the neighbors gush about the generosity and patience with which they treat the boy._

_The boy is a bit small for his age, but healthy. Always getting into scraps with the neighboring children. It seems that the boy has some behavior issues, but with a prankster father, maybe that is to be expected. He seems to like playing hide-and-seek and chasing games with his cousin and the neighboring children quite a bit in their front yard. Hopefully, all that running around will helping with his misbehaving problem._

_Does this help ease your concerns?_

_Yours sincerely,  
__Albus Dumbledore_

_._

_May 1, 1984_

_Dear Albus,_

_It does. It really does. I cannot thank you enough for indulging me as you have._

_If it does not trouble you, could I ask you to indulge you me once more?_

_All of this fuss has finally helped me overcome my fear of seeing Harry. If you could arrange it, may I see him sometime around his birthday? It doesn't have to be on the day exactly. I'm sure Mrs. Dursley and the rest of his family would like to celebrate it together and I don't want to disrupt that._

_I know it will be difficult, what with her dislike of me. And I know it will be dishonest to see him without her consent. But I would like to see him, just so he knows who I am._

_Forever grateful,  
__Celeste Pettigrew_

_._

_May 2, 1984_

_My Dear Mrs. Pettigrew,_

_It is no trouble. I am proud of you for finally taking this step._

_I will arrange a meeting between you and young Harry._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Albus Dumbledore_

_._

_June 10, 1984_

_My Dear Mrs. Pettigrew,_

_As luck would have it, Harry will be available to meet with you on his birthday. He will be staying with a friend of mine who is also his neighbor. She has consented to allow you to drop in while he is there._

_She also warns that if you are allergic to felines, that you take a potion to counteract such effects. _

_Does this arrangement suit you?_

_Yours sincerely,  
__Albus Dumbledore_

_._

_June 11, 1984_

_Dear Albus,_

_Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes. Thank you. Please inform your friend that I will be coming at noon._

_Forever grateful,  
__Celeste Pettigrew_

* * *

July 30, 1984

It was agony to wait.

Many times over, she checked and then rechecked that she had the right address, that the outfit she had laid out was appropriate, that the present was perfect. If she wasn't sure she would irritate her boss, she would even check to make sure that her request for a day off had been properly filed.

Likely, Celeste wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, too excited for the day to come. Indeed, for over the last month, she'd been befuddling her coworkers and even worrying her typically unobservant father with her mania.

Knowing that seeing the boy exhausted wasn't a good idea, she went to the bathroom and took a dose of dreamless sleep potion to put herself to bed. Once she was settled in and starting to doze off, she smiled to herself.

"Tomorrow, Harry."

July 31, 1984

Celeste Pettigrew had had many worst days of her life.

There had been the day her mother left her and her father back when she was little. There was the day she was rejected and humiliated by the boy she had really liked at Hogsmeade.

And for the longest time, the worst day of all had been when her best friends and husband died within a week of each other. Worse still that their deaths had been because they had trusted the wrong man. A man she herself had once considered a friend as well.

But what took the cake as the worst day of her life was the day every terrible thing Remus Lupin had ever said about her was proven true.

The day had started out well. Even with the dreamless sleep, she'd been awake just before the sunlight had started to stream through her bedroom window. To balance that out, she took an extra-long shower and made herself and her father a very large breakfast (and even committed herself to wrangling him out of the library to actually sit down and eat it).

By ten-thirty in the morning, she deemed it a good enough time to be getting there early. Thus, Celeste stepped out the door precariously juggling her purse, a home baked cake, and Harry's present as she summoned the Knight Bus. It was only by luck that she remembered to secure her packages as she boarded. If she had not done so, she may have lost all of them on the ensuing ride. They arrived in Little Whinging by eleven.

With nothing to do and thinking better of trying to knock on the door too early, she went to the park and sat on a bench and stared at the front page of the Daily Prophet (charmed to be still and inconspicuous) for what seemed like forever. There was a group of little boys roughhousing like puppies with their parents looking on, but it didn't really catch her attention. None of them was dark haired or green eyes like the child she was looking for, so she paid them no mind.

When it was finally eleven forty-five, she folded her paper up and walked over to the house of Arabella Figg, Albus's friend and apparently Harry's occasional babysitter. With surprising confidence, she rapped the door three times.

She'd expected the woman to answer the door, but when it opened, all she saw was empty space over her parcels.

"Hewwo?" she heard a small voice say, out of sight, "Hewwo? C-Can I hep you?"

Shifting her bag and other miscellaneous items to one arm, she was able to look down at the person addressing her. It took a lot of self-control not to drop everything she was holding and take the boy in her arms. There was no questioning who this was.

Green eyes peered warily up at her.

"Miss?"

Blushing, she finally recovered, coughing a bit before introducing herself with what she hoped was a smile, "Hello, my name is Celeste Pettigrew. Is this Arabella Figg's home?"

"Um, yeah," he answered, as a cat suddenly appeared and started slinking figure eights around his ankles.

"Great," she just about shuddered out, "I'm here to visit. You're Harry, right?"

The little boy's eyes went wide before his brows furrowed.

"Yeah. How'd you knowed me?"

"I knew your parents. I even knew you when you were even littler than you are now."

"You knowed my mommy and daddy?"

"Yes Harry, dear," she said softly.

"Were dey nice?" he asked, a strange intensity in his childlike voice.

"They were the nicest people I've ever known," she answered, feeling like she was soaring at being able to tell Lily and James's son all about them.

It all came crashing down when Harry started crying.

"Harry, dear, what's wrong?" she begged, no longer caring about her things and she knelt to his level, shoved them away, and placed a hand on either of his forearms.

To her horror, the boy flinched away from her.

"Liar!" he yelled, "Your a meanie and a liar. Aunt 'Tunie said tat tey were fweaks and dwunks and that lyink is bad."

Celeste felt cold. She reached for the crying and struggling boy, even as he tried to fight her.

"No Harry, no. I'm not lying. Your mommy and daddy were good people, I swear. They were nice, they loved you so much Harry, it's not a lie."

His sobs only continued to grow louder, attracting the attention of a jogger and some of the cats, all of which glared at her for causing the child distress.

"Mrs. Pettigrew, I presume?"

Glancing away from the crying four year-old, she found an older woman standing over them, her face stony.

"Mrs. Figg?" At the nod, she launched into an explanation. "I didn't mean to upset him. I don't know what I did."

"It isn't your fault, girl, at least not really," the old woman told her, taking a hold of Harry and setting about calming him in a way that made her immediately jealous, "Harry, be a dear and go finish feeding my babies," she whispered to the now sniffling boy.

He disappeared into the house before Celeste could say anything more. The cold feeling only worsened as she stared off into the woman's house.

"I suppose I am no longer welcome?" she asked dully.

"Now don't be like that," Mrs. Figg said, yanking the distraught woman to her feet, "I told you, it's not your fault. This is just a misunderstanding I'm sure we'll all be able to resolve once we've calmed ourselves and had a cup of tea. Please come in Mrs. Pettigrew. We have much to discuss."

And discuss they did.

While Harry was busy with the cats, Mrs. Figg -_ call me Arabella _\- cut to the chase with her over a cup of tea in the kitchen. She had been assigned by Dumbledore to keep an eye on the boy, and so she had for almost three years now. This entire time, she had suspected the Dursley couple of neglect and abuse of their nephew, but had been unable to find solid proof to send back to Dumbledore.

"The boy is tightlipped. I believe that girl has forbidden him from ever speaking to adults about what happens in that home."

There was no way to confirm if they were hitting him either, because he was always publically seen tussling with the children in his neighborhood, so that could be where the bruises came from.

"Not really play from what I've seen," the woman snorted, "More like terrorizing is what those little beasts are doing."

She had only just managed to convince Petunia to allow her to babysit. Apparently, the woman didn't like people asking many questions after Harry. She did, however, approve of Mrs. Figg giving him chores to complete.

"'Keep him busy,' the twit always says," Mrs. Figg snarled into her tea, spiked with some ale she had pulled out of a cupboard, "I never let him do more than feed and play with the cats."

As guarded as both Harry and Petunia were, Mrs. Figg was careful to act rather absent minded and strange, so that they just thought she was a dotty old cat lady.

"They underestimate me that way. Petunia sends him over more often because she thinks me harmless, and Harry slips up and mentions things he wouldn't if he thought I was listening that closely."

Through the entire conversation, Celeste had felt an icy storm brewing in her gut.

"And Albus never knew anything?" she finally asked.

"I voiced my concerns twice. The first time he promised me that he would speak with Petunia. When things seemed bad once more and I spoke to him again, he responded the same way. I realized that he wasn't taking me seriously, and that I would need more evidence to prove to him what was going on," she explained, looking older and more resigned than she'd seemed before, "Albus is a good man, and he does care for the Potter boy. But he has always had too much to take care of to be able to invest time in the wellbeing of one little boy, even if that little boy is the Boy-Who-Lived."

Celeste winced at the moniker.

"Today though, that was the first time I have ever seen Harry react in such a way. You are the first person to get that reaction out of him."

"I am?"

"Yes. And what he said confirms at very least for me that they are verbally abusive with the child. Even that much is abhorrent to me." The woman frowned as she scratched between the eyes of the Russian blue at her elbow. "Albus told me you are the boy's godmother."

"Yes, I-"

"I don't care what the reasons were for you not taking custody when his parents died. What I want to know is whether you would be willing to retake it now?"

"Retake custody of Harry?" she murmured.

"Yes, are you willing?"

Was she? Celeste was still a wreck, even years out from losing Peter. Only months ago had she even started seeing a mind healer for the depression she'd been suffering with for years. Was she any more stable now, emotionally and mentally, than she had been the first time she'd been asked to take Harry?

_A useless, unfeeling coward._

Maybe Remus Lupin was right. Maybe she had been a coward to refuse Harry back then. Maybe she was unstable, but better unstable than whatever Petunia was to Harry.

And that was it, it seemed.

"Yes," she finally answered, "Yes, I'm willing."

* * *

AN: What am I doing with my life? This is the second story I've started in a month and I've already got several others. Ugh. Okay, well, this one, I'm not going to lie, this started strictly as an HP OC fic with the purpose of her getting into Remus Lupin's pants. Somehow, plot and Harry Potter getting adopted and her being Peter Pettigrew's widow happened, too. But that's the byproduct of giving into your plot bunnies at 4 in the morning. Let me know if I should keep going with this, because I'm not totally sure.

Btw, if I do keep writing this, would anyone want to beta for me? I'm not very great at finding betas.

Oh, and most important question of all: Did Remus seem OOC to you?


	2. Chapter 2: Breathing

**Chapter Two: Breathing**

* * *

"_A long time ago, we used to be friends  
__But I haven't thought of you lately at all  
__If ever again a greeting I send to you  
__Short and sweet to the soul I intend"_

-We Used to Be Friends, Dandy Warhols

* * *

July 31, 1984

Celeste was a creature of habit and she had the habit of easily falling into despair when faced with difficult situations.

In the hours following meeting Harry, again and again she almost succumbed to the desire to just leave Harry with Mrs. Figg - _Arabella _\- and fill a vacancy at St. Mungos. She just may have if not for said woman noticing the panic creeping into her features. The older woman had proceeded to make a promise of her own that if Celeste did not do right by the boy, the old squib would hunt her down, beat her bloody, and bury her under the catnip in the back garden.

To combat the flight instinct, she employed one of the strategies she and the mind healer had determined most helpful for her getting through those difficult situations. As she, Arabella, and a very subdued Harry sat in the living room sipping tea and eating biscuits, she stopped to make some lists.

Facts of the situation:

First, her mental state was still questionable.

Second, there wasn't much room in her father's house for another person.

Third, she knew next to nothing about raising children.

Fourth, Harry was being abused.

There may have been a couple valid reasons as to why she shouldn't take Harry on that list, but the one good reason why she should was ultimately the only one that mattered.

She hadn't been committed without consent to St. Mungo's yet, so that was something. And maybe the house was small now, but they weren't so poor that they couldn't afford expanding to give the boy a proper room and making do in the meantime with extension charms. Maybe the only reason she had for touching child rearing books over the last couple years was to stock them at work. Then again, she did work at a bookstore, and she could get said books discounted.

Harry needed to be out of that house and she was the only person who had legal right to him, so she needed to do that. That meant that she needed a plan.

The plan, as such:

First, talk to Albus.

She had excused herself and used Arabella's fireplace to firecall Albus. The man had gone from pleasant, to confused, to distraught as she relayed to him what she had found. Remembering Arabella's threat as well as her comments as to Albus's preoccupation, she had ruthlessly stomped on her desire to give into hysterics. As much as she would've loved to have a cry and let her old headmaster comfort her, it had not been the time to be acting like a needy child when an actual child needed her. Face drawn in pain and disappointment, Albus had ended their firecall by telling her she was free to take Harry home with her right then, if she so chose.

Almost numb, she'd nodded and pulled her head from the fire. It had been unexpectedly easy to check off item one.

Second, make the house suitable for a little boy.

Popping her head in to reassure Arabella she hadn't pulled a runner, she went back home to check its state. Merlin, her house was only half ready to host a little boy. She was a meticulous housekeeper, but her father oozed mess and disorder everywhere he went. A room would be clean for only so long before her father would pass through and then almost every available surface would be covered in books, papers, and half drunk mugs of coffee mixed with firewhiskey. That would not be good if Harry started living with her, so she'd have to up her game on keeping her father's clutter contained to his own space.

Currently, the house was in mild disarray just from the few hours she was gone. Spells were sent flying across the room, and the clutter eventually disappeared. She shuffled off to her room and after a moment of thought, she started stuffing her belongings into a bottomless sack. Harry could have her room. Her father owned a tent large enough on the inside to use as a temporary room. She could pitch it anywhere, even the closet or attic in a pinch, and still be comfortable. So, one last thing to check. Was there enough food in the house? (A quick check confirmed that there was enough, though they were running low on coffee.)

Everything was for the most part in place at home. Time to move to the last step.

Third, get Harry.

_Yes_, she thought, now looking at the little boy curled into a large wingback chair dozing under a pile of drowsy cats, _Easier said than done._

The closer she got, the more lazy, evil eyes she received from the cats waking at her proximity. By the time she was within two feet of them, there was a cacophony of low hisses and growls sounding at her. With a grimace, she watched as Harry was inevitably roused by the din.

His green eyes fluttered open, and after two sleepy blinks, he was aware and on guard as he stared back up at her. He worried at his bottom lip for a second or two, before speaking.

"'m sorry I was bad."

"Oh Harry." She knelt down in front him, slowly placing her hands against the armrest and leaning in. "You weren't bad. Just, just confused, and upset. It doesn't make you bad. I'm not mad at you for that."

"Your not?" he asked, a lot suspicious, but there was the littlest bit of hope there in his tone, too.

"I'm not. Really."

"'Kay," he finally said in response. Biting his lip again, he began once more, "Missus Figg said you wan' me to live wif you?"

"Yes, that is," Celeste ducked her head a bit, before glancing back up at him, "That is, if you would like to come with me?"

Silence hung between them as his eyes widened and his mouth parted in a soft gasp. Her fingers twitched upon the armrest.

"Only if you want to," she rushed out, the fingers of her left hand tapping restlessly at the ones of her right, "I won't force you to. Just, if you want to."

"I don' hafta go back?"

She didn't need to ask where he meant, she just shook her head fiercely.

"Never, not as long as I can do something about it."

He stared straight into her eyes then, before nodding once.

"'Kay."

* * *

August 1, 1984

The alarm Celeste had set with her wand went off right at five in the morning like it was supposed to.

It didn't matter much, considering the fact that she had been awake long before it had sounded, staring up at the ceiling. When her sleep schedule in the beginning had been obscenely off, and she was sleeping through days at a time and awake just as long afterwards, her mind healer had given her a potions regimen to start regulating her sleep. She'd been off them for a while trying to see if she could go without. Maybe it had been too early to start trying, she thought with a sigh.

Since the alarm had gone off, it was finally an acceptable time to be out of bed. Sitting up, she wondered for a split second whether she should freshen up before she went down and made breakfast. It was only for a split second, because immediately, she went to the bathroom to clean up for the day. Even if Harry was just a four year old, presentability mattered.

Not long after, she left her room intent on heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. She decided to stop at her room - Harry's room now - to check in on him.

Her heart stopped when she saw he wasn't in bed. It stuttered and then took off at lightning speeds when she heard a sound come from downstairs. She threw herself down the stairs, around the corner, and into kitchen. There, she found Harry standing in the center of the room, holding a frying pan and watching her carefully.

"Harry?" she exhaled shakily, embarrassingly out of breath just from that small bit of exertion.

"G'mornin' Miss Celess," he murmured quietly, looking anywhere but at her face.

"Good morning Harry," she started again, "What are you doing up so early? Have you been down long?"

"I'm supposa help start brek-fas'," he answered, fidgeting a bit, "I didn' wanna be late so I came down soon as I could to wait for you."

"Harry, you didn't need to do that, I can make breakfast on my own," Celeste told him, moving closer so she could kneel in front of him.

"But-" he started, his confused gaze meeting her own for a second before flickering away.

"I'm an adult and I can handle cooking without help," she restated, reaching out and gently taking the frying pan from him, "I'd like to make today special by cooking for you."

"I-"

"Is that okay?" she asked, "Can I make you breakfast?"

"You wanna? For me?" She turned his head so that he was looking right at her and nodded.

"I do dearheart." The term of endearment she remembered Lily and James using once upon a time rolled easily off her tongue. When he nodded she stood, impulsively smoothing his hair down with a hand, not that it did anything to neaten it. "Would you like to keep me company while I cook?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't leave so she would take what she could get.

.

For all of the plans and preparation beforehand, she had certainly forgotten quite a few details that had come back to bite her by the end of the day.

Breakfast almost went off without any further hiccups. Her father hadn't come down then, too caught up in his work, and that had suited her just fine. Harry hadn't spoken much after what happened in the kitchen. There hadn't been much of a choice for where to sit since the chairs were too tall for the child to take a seat on their own without assistance. Still, he hadn't pulled away from her when she had lifted him into a chair beside her own and put his food in front of him. If she didn't think too hard about the look of disbelief and wonder on his face when she served him his fry up and cut what she thought he might not be able to on his own, everything was just perfect. They took awhile to finish, half the time spent silently watching each other until they were both done and it was time to clean up.

It was really careless of her, what happened next. She'd been so careful up until that point not to use any magic in front of Harry until she explained it to him. Whenever it was she figured out how to explain it to him. There had been informational books at the bookstore with suggestions on how to introduce muggleborns or their parents and guardians to magic. Celeste had never anticipated needing advice on such a thing, but then again, she'd never expected having to take in Harry, let alone needing to give him an introduction to this world.

So it was a completely daft move on her part to pull out her wand and send the dishes floating to the sink with a swish and flick. The moment she did it, she froze before her eyes darted frantically to Harry.

Harry, who was staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"I-" she started, before choking on the abundance of words that threatened to all come out all at once, her wand falling out of her hand and clattering onto the table, "I-"

"What was dat?" He whispered.

"That was- That was…" Words continued to fail her.

"Did you do dat?"

That question cut across her racing thoughts. She looked again to Harry, and saw something desperate, hopeful in him. Celeste couldn't begin to understand what he was looking for from her. All she could do was turn her chair towards him and hope that whatever she said wasn't the wrong thing.

"Yes," she answered, worrying the inner part of her bottom lip with her teeth, "I did."

"So i's not jus' me?"

"Not just you?"

"Not jus' me who can do... dat stuff?"

Her eyes widened just a bit, finally starting to understand what he was getting at.

"Have you done it before Harry?" He shrank down into his chair, looking as unsure about answering as she felt. "Like what I just did?"

"I didn' mean to. It jus' happ'n'd. They said it was bad, though," he admitted to her, his voice hushed.

"It isn't," Celeste told him, her tone firm for a moment, "What I did, what you did, it isn't bad. It's magic."

"Magic?"

"Yes, that's what it was." She smiled tremulously. "Is there anything you'd like to know about it? About magic?"

Hesitantly, he lifted his face so they were looking straight at each other, and a wobbly little smile took over his guarded features.

"I wanna know everyt'in'."

* * *

August 6, 1984

Harry meant it when he said he wanted to know everything about magic.

His quest for knowledge had started small, which was probably why it was easy to think nothing of it at the beginning. He'd tentatively ask her a question, just one, and listen patiently and attentively as she explained as much as she understood. Once she was finished, he'd skitter off for about an hour back to his room to absorb it. And then he'd be back to ask something else.

For the first week he was living with her, it was easy enough to give him her time. She'd had enough forethought after that first breakfast to firecall in and beg for some time off work to get Harry settled. A week was all she was allowed, seeing as how it was bad enough that she'd asked for time off during the rush of the Hogwarts back to school crowd. Only after the rush would she be able to start negotiating reduced work hours. With her time off dwindling down to an end, she'd scrambled to find another way to keep Harry properly looked after.

Her father, Morgana bless him, was not an option.

The first time she'd introduced him to the boy, he'd blinked owlishly down at the child before turning to get himself some more coffee and shuffling back to his office. She could have screamed at him, what with the way Harry's face had fallen at her father's response. Instead, she was left to explain to her godson that the man didn't hate him and that it wasn't anything that he had done, just he sometimes didn't know how to talk to new people. Her attempts to get her father to interact with the boy didn't offer much promise either. On good days, he treated the boy like a housepet he should leave a bowl of food out for on occasion. On bad days, it was like Harry was another piece of furniture to him.

It also didn't help that watching the two of them together was a reminder of what life had been like after her mother had left. He'd always leaned on her mother like a crutch for the parenting, and hadn't ever stepped up to the role even after she was gone. In retrospect, it was almost as if he'd just waited Celeste out until she learned to take care of herself so they could just settle into being very familiar, congenial roommates. And then she'd moved out to live with and later marry Peter, and that had been the end of that.

Of course, now she was living with him again, and this time with a child of her own that she still couldn't depend on him to care for while she was busy.

For a second, she'd considered contacting Albus for help with this situation. However, she found herself deciding against it. On top of the likelihood that the man would be just as busy with preparations for the new Hogwarts school year as she would be, it didn't feel right anymore, asking him for help with her godson. Maybe it was unfair of her to think it, but what Arabella had told her still haunted her.

And Arabella. She'd mentioned something about them going to see her and the cats _once_ in conversation to Harry, and he'd almost had a panic attack. While she knew that it was likely not the woman herself that brought that out in him, she was not interested in triggering that reaction again anytime soon. Not while he was still getting used to just living with her.

Something would have to figure out later, because she really didn't want to lose the other woman as an ally in this. But for now, it left her without anyone she could rely on.

It also meant she may just have to bring Harry to work with her.

* * *

August 16, 1984

Bringing her godson to work proved to be both a success and a disaster.

Her boss wasn't heartless, just a bit exasperated and frazzled due to the week he'd been having. That first day, he'd taken one look at her - frazzled in her own way - then down at the boy at her side - wide, nervous green eyes peering up from under glasses, a messy fringe, and the brim of a hat - and just sighed and waved them off.

There was a short list of rules she'd given Harry while he was there with her at work. First was that he had to keep the hat on at all times, which thankfully he accepted with the tiniest hint of bafflement. Second was that he stayed where she could see him at all times. Finally, he could talk to her whenever he wanted as long as he didn't interrupt her while she was speaking with a customer.

Though the boy proved to be amazingly well behaved, the paranoia was driving her crazy. They talked about his parents almost as much as they talked about magic. However, the closest they'd ever gotten to talking about the day they died had been when the boy had innocently mentioned the car accident they had supposedly died in. Since then, she still hadn't had that talk with her godson about what had actually happened to his parents and who he had become to the Wizarding World as a result.

Now, she was stuck, wondering how long she could put it off for. Wondering whether the decision to tell him would be taken out of her hands. What if his hat was accidentally knocked off his head and someone recognized him? What if he wandered off one of these days without her and got lost somewhere in the Alley? What if someone snatched him while she wasn't looking?

Worry drove her to severe physical and mental exhaustion by the time both of them needed to board the Knight Bus home. And her guilt grew when she didn't have the energy at the end of the day to talk to Harry like they had gotten used to. Days were for talking about magic, but nights were for slowly trying to unravel the damage Petunia had done to the memory of Lily and James. But she'd fallen asleep on the couch the minute they got home three days in a row now. The boy looked a little more cheated and resigned every over morning breakfast, unable to keep it out of his expression.

It was only a matter of time before she wrote Arabella a letter dripping with hysteria and self pity like she was some foolish housewife writing to an agony aunt for advice. To her surprise, the return letter was much more encouraging and kinder than she had anticipated, especially after the stern talking to she'd received when she'd first taken Harry on. It was also a little ominous, especially the last sentence:

_Help is coming._

She put it out of mind. Celeste didn't have time between childcare and work to figure out what the woman meant.

However, maybe she should have.

"Celeste?"

Even after years without hearing it, she'd recognize that soft, sad voice anywhere.

If she had to describe what that sound did to her, she'd say that it set off a chain reaction of warmth and tingles all throughout her body. Once her brain caught up with her, all of those warm tendrils unfurling within her snapped tightly back to her core, where her heart was hammering wildly away in her chest. She held herself up against the counter, her legs feeling almost as if they had been taken out from underneath her. Looking up from the log the QuickQuill was keeping of items sold, her eyes locked with a pair she'd wasted long afternoons trying to pin down as either amber or green or something in between once upon a time.

"_Remus_," she breathed, mapping out his face, his hair, his shoulders, his everything with her gaze.

This had to have been one of those dreams she didn't like knowing she still had. Not because suddenly he was here, she'd always worried one of these days he'd walk into Flourish and Blotts while she was on shift and see her. She'd also imagined that maybe he'd sneer at her like he had the last night they'd seen each other and berate her again. Or maybe he'd just look right past her, like she was insignificant. And maybe if she was strong enough, she would've given back in kind, convinced that she no longer owed Remus Lupin anything. Her heart would still have broken, because she would never be strong enough to hold it together forever, only just enough to hide the hurt until she could break down in private.

But this. This was nothing like she could have anticipated.

No, because only in those few and far between dreams would she have envisioned him standing before her again, his perpetually tired features lit up with joy, not colored with fury or disgust or indifference. He looked - there was a tinge of something else but for the most part he actually seemed happy. _Happy _to see _her_.

"Hullo," he said, his smile a shade of that rare boyish one she remembered from their school days and had _missed_.

It was then, to her mortification, that she began to cry.

.

Though her manager was not a monster, he was opposed to having a crying woman working the front counter. _Bad for business_ he'd muttered as he ushered her, Remus, and Harry into the break room to get things sorted. The frosty look he shot at her once friend might have been touching if not for the fact that he likely believed that this was some sort of lover's quarrel between the two of them. Just the thought of it made her face burn as much as blubbering in the middle of the store did.

Now they were all sat at the table, her and her godson on one side, the sandy haired man on the other side. Said man wasn't even looking at her either, all his attention focused on the boy in the chair to her left who was trying desperately to bury himself in her side. That was something of a bad habit he was developing when faced with new people, but she wasn't going to discourage him in this instance. Remus's staring really was intense.

"Stop staring like that," Celeste told him, willing the hiccups that lingered from her crying jag to dissipate.

"Oh, sorry, I-" He quickly averted his eyes from the boy to her, hunching in on himself a bit. "It's just…"

"He's grown a lot," she said with a nod.

He nodded as well and studied her for a long moment, before murmuring, "You look good."

Which she knew was a lie, but it was nice and such a Remus thing to say. And of course, she'd be lying if she said he looked good too, because he almost never did, just somewhere along the sliding scale of 'dead tired' and 'death warmed over.' In fact, he almost looked worse now than he ever had before. His saving grace was the sheepishly content smile that took over most of his face, smoothing out many of the new worry lines the last couple of years had etched into it.

So she settled for, "It's good to see you."

And she meant it.

"Really?" He questioned, uncertainty growing in his expression, "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me ever again after- after everything."

"I wasn't sure either," she confessed, "I thought you hated me."

"I don't," he said in a rush, his face twisted in pain, "Merlin. You'd just lost Peter and then I said what I did. I couldn't blame you for refusing to see me."

"Oh." Her voice sounded very far away. "So all this time?"

"You were the only friend I had left and I made you think I hated you and left you to grieve on your own." If it was possible, his expression grew even more agonized. "I am so very, very sorry."

Tears flowed down her face once more but she made no move to stop them. Even if she could not yet forgive him for those terrible months after, she was just too tired and had missed him too damn much to care. She reached across the table with the arm that wasn't wrapped snuggly around Harry. Stunned, Remus reached back and took her offered hand with great care, as he thought he might break it.

"Why are you here?" Celeste asked then, hoping to finally move away from a topic that was so raw for both of them.

Her old friend flinched, almost unnoticeably if she hadn't been looking for it, and tried to extricate his hand from hers. She wasn't willing to surrender it just yet, and held on a little tighter. Something in him seemed to relax when he glanced at her and took in her expression. He sat up a little and stopped trying to pull away.

"Arabella asked me to come. Sent me a letter out of the blue, telling me that she needed help with a friend," he explained, letting his fingers curl a little more comfortably around her own, "When she said it was you, and that you had Harry, I couldn't say no."

A choked giggle slipped through her lips, and she felt Harry shifting when the man said his name.

"That woman," she laughed, shaking her head, "seems to enjoy managing my life for me."

"Do you need help, though?" His expression had grown very serious, his eyes flickering between her and the boy tucked in her side.

"I-"

"Because if you do, if you need it, just tell me and I will do everything can." Remus squeezed her hand gently. "Even if you don't, I want the chance to be a part of your and Harry's lives again. If you'll let me."

She stared long and hard at him. Celeste then released his hand and turned to nudge her godson out from his hiding place.

"Harry. This is Remus Lupin." The boy's gaze slid from her tear streaked face to the man sitting across from them, and back. "He was a good friend of your mother and father's."

"You knowed dem?" The boy asked, getting that familiar look in his eye whenever Lily and James came up.

"Yes," her friend answered, shooting her a grateful glance and then returning his focus to Harry, "I did."

Sitting back, she listened as Harry quickly started asking him questions, the sandy haired man answering them eagerly with her adding little comments here and there. If her old friend's eyes were misty with wonder and sadness in equal measure as he talked, neither she nor the boy commented on it. Eventually, she had to go back to work and Remus need to leave, but before he walked out the door, her hand caught his forearm.

"I'll send you an owl," she promised, "There's more to talk about and-" She swallowed convulsively. "I do, want you around. For Harry. For me, too."

There was that smile again in full force.

"I'll keep an eye out for it then," he said, letting her hand slip down his arm and brush his own as he pulled away to kneel down before the boy, "Goodbye Harry."

"G'bye Mr. Lupin," he said and, surprising both adults, he darted in to hug the man and then quickly withdrew to press himself against her once more.

"We'll see you soon," Celeste told Remus, and with a parting nod he stood and left.

* * *

AN: Two years. Two years... and I still don't know how wanting an OC and Remus to hook up resulted in this.

Guess I'm continuing this story, though! My only comment on the chapter is that if you don't like Harry's "kid speech," sorry but only a little sorry? I know not everyone likes it when people do it, but this my style and I like showing how kids sound (and I want to show Harry's lacking speech development due to the Dursleys and no formal education thus far). And seriously, Rowling does it too (see how Hagrid talks). Just hold tight for now, it'll phase out if Celeste and Remus have anything to say about it.

I'll end this AN by thanking **nora9gina** for reading this over for me and giving me the encouragement to post. If you're looking for a good HP OC fic, check out her story **Spindle**.


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